Returned from boot, my baby brother thinking it'd be funny as hell to lob a string of crackers under my bottom bunk rack found out otherwise. There was a short corridor off to one side then, a landing atop the ladder (stairs).
He had just went to strike his match, I had him up against the wall in a choke hold about three inches off the floor. It was enough I could have easily literally rung his neck, snapped it, instead I got awake and realized what was happening, dropped him. He told me later that he never wanted to repeat that experience, he saw Hell in my eyes from seeing nothing in them. I had scared him but good.
That morning too I almost decked my mom who went to slide pancakes unto my plate. She was behind me to the side, I stood and drew back, she stepped back a few foot. "I'm sorry didn't mean to startle you, you need to get that edge off sailor. Charlie was as white as bleached out white sheets. Looked like he had seen a ghost and ran off as quick. What did you do?"
I have
managed albeit kind of roughly at times to
dull the edge just a bit. I'm weighing 300 lbs or a little more and I know that is lack of discipline on my part and in part the testosterone I take every two weeks, it makes me hungry as Hell. I eat but then cannot carry through with the discipline to exercise, lacking motivation. I feel lost in the world. There's no purpose or meaning, I'm left to define those and do okay but that's just it, okay. I survive but only just. Then, the weight adds to the arthritis & pain sets in terribly, so "I don't wanna move" to exercise, it's a vicious circle. I need to break it, ... am
working on it but it's a bitch of a climb.
I too worry about the PTSD stripping me of the gun right. I figure it this way though, there's always private sales, and they really cannot legislate that out of the system. I still feel safe around guns. I was brought up correctly, guns are not weapons but tools. It becomes a weapon based upon intentions. For that matter if I intended, I could turn the air anyone breathes into a weapon. They going to legislate air as illegal or unlawful? Good luck with that. And no that's not simply an
end run around the Law, it actually rather is the Law. Being crazy does not mean you can not own tools, it simply means you need to be more so responsible with them, or supervised with them.
Stubborn? Military folks? Nah, never. Don't know what wold give that impression. *chuckles* And those who love us, put up with our guff, they're not as stubborn or more so? I recall a night I had remembered an honor watch for a sub that got sunk. No, not a dive but the sub was sunk. There was a crew aboard. When I was in boot our one CC had been sub mariner for near a decade. He made us pull an honor watch for the crew of that sub. Come home and remember this, start to having a drink for mates that'll never taste scotch again. Boy I got ripped and didn't realize it. Got a little mouthy toward the new admiral, the wife. Did not take her long.
"That's it sailor, last call. This is your captain & admiral speaking: finish your drink and march your ass to the rack. Do it now, or you are wrong," she let fly in as near a growl as she could muster. What does the man that's twice her size and full of piss & vinegar do? Finishes his drink in a gulp, stands and staggers a march to the rack without incident. Had the fear of Neptune Rex in him he did. She wasn't bluffing and I just know had I done otherwise in the slightest she would have decked me and let me sleep it off where I dropped.
I know now there's lots of men that say they carry "real men" cards would say they'd have smacked her. I've never been much to being a "real man", card carrying or otherwise. I am a man for sure just not one of these "real men" that seems to think strength comes from abusing it. Those kind of fuckers need put on their ass, hard. "Oh, sorry did you bump into me?" Oops. "Need me to help you up?" *grin* "Damn you fell again. Here, I'll get you up this time, ..." *chuckles* "Ah, learn something then huh? Well keep it in mind next time, because there better not be a next time."
Got our apartment ready for inspection today, yesterday. My wife she has to constantly fuss at me to keep her house clean. *lol* No, she comes in and always wonders if it's the right place. I keep it so clean she gets mad and dirties up the galley on me. I just get mad the next morning and clean it up on her.
She then goes to work mad that her house is clean again. I'm such a terrible husband, I tell ya.
She's done already on notice. She can have the house for the nick knacks, yarn, crafty projects. I get the barn and out buildings, she gets none of them, just the house. So much yarn in here now, I'm about to don the Fire Marshall hat on her. "Now, lissen 'ere missy, ya gots too much o' this string. It gonna catch ya up in a fire, you be dead, I be sad ... no more o' it, I put my foot down." Then, she'll just go buy tea kettles. *grumbles* She discovered I like them, damn it.
Oh well, I hear Raymond Burr & Jack Webb into it about coffee. Poor Max Gibson cannot get away from typing to get coffee. My cup she a got a hole in the bottom, look no coffee init. What you reckon I oughta do? Well I'm gonna, ...